Valentine's Day-Mature version
by Jaenelle Angelline
Summary: The M-rated version of my Valentine's Day short. Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1: Shopping

**Person of Interest: Valentine**

**Chapter 1: Shopping**

_Author's Note: Started as a short. Was supposed to be a simple five page vignette. I should know me better by now—my muse simply doesn't know when to stop working. So okay, there's going to be four chapters of this in the T-rated version(two posted today, the rest tomorrow);and I'll post an M-rated version of this tomorrow with some full-fledged smut at the end of it (what's Valentine's Day without smut? Especially when John and Joss are such a deliciously gorgeous couple!) So enjoy, and oh, be warned—I think this might turn into a novel, too. At some point. Remember Joss finding out that John has warrants out for his arrest in four countries? What if one of those is Italy…_

_Anyway, enjoy! _

"Come on out and let me see."

"Mom!" came an exasperated young male voice from inside the dressing room.

John Reese froze in the act of pulling a suit off the rack. Those voices were so familiar…he nonchalantly walked around the other side of the rack where he could watch the owners of those voices and not be seen, and then looked up.

And saw, as he'd expected, Joss.

Taylor must be in the fitting room; Joss was standing in front of it, her arms folded, purse slung over one shoulder. "Come on, Taylor, let me see. If you're going to refuse Dad's offer to take you shopping for a suit for the school dance then you're stuck with me."

"Yeah, but you've got better sense than Dad does." The young male voice inside the fitting room sounded resigned. "Okay, I'm coming out, but remember, you picked this one."

Taylor Carter came out of the fitting room, and John looked the boy over. Joss had good taste in clothes; the suit looked good on Taylor. The problem was that it didn't fit right. It need to be a little looser over the boy's upper arms, so he could raise his arms without feeling restricted; the hem of the pants needed to be taken up—Taylor was a little shorter than the suit's legs—but overall it didn't look bad.

"It doesn't look bad," Joss said quietly, looking him over critically. "I like the way it looks, I just don't know if it fits right." She dropped her arms, sighed. "I really wish you'd done this with Dad."

"I didn't want to do this with Dad." There was an edge to Taylor's voice. "It's not like he really cares. Not about you, or me."

"Don't talk about your father that way, Taylor. He does care. He's trying to build a better relationship with you now."

"Yeah. Now. Not then. Not when we were all still living together. Not when you were married and not for the last five years when it was just us. And he's not trying to build a better relationship with you. He's uncomfortable around you. He never talks about you when I'm at his place on these stupid weekend court-ordered visits. I'd really sort of rather not go. I don't want to spend more time with Dad than I have to." He turned away from Joss, looking at himself in the mirror. "Though it would be nice to have someone who knows about suits to help. Just as long as it's not Dad."

Joss was quickly wiping her eyes. "Let me see if I can find a salesman to help." She turned—and almost collided with John. "John! Damn it, don't sneak up on me like that!"

He grinned at her. "Not keeping your guard up, Detective," he teased, but his smile was warm and understanding. Then he looked at Taylor. "You need a little more room in the arms there. The jacket's too tight across your chest."

Taylor beamed at him. "I've been working out in the school gym. I took weightlifting last semester. The girls like muscles." Joss rolled her eyes as John and Taylor shred purely masculine grins. "But seriously, you think this is too tight?"

"It is. Is this a two piece or are you getting the pieces separately? I recommend getting both pieces separately, since you need one size on top and a different size on the bottom." John nodded to the fitting room. "Go ahead and get out of that one, and we'll go looking. It shouldn't be too hard to match fabrics so it doesn't look like they were purchased separately."

"I'm sure John has better things to do with his time, Taylor," Joss said quickly.

Both Taylor and John froze. "But he's right here, Mom, and he knows how to dress!" Taylor protested.

John looked at her quietly. "I don't mind, Joss. Really." Left unspoken was the implication_, as long as you don't mind._

She knew what he was thinking, as always. "I don't mind, but…I'm sure you have better things to do with your time than find a suit for a school dance."

"If I had anything else to do, Joss, I wouldn't be here," he said quietly. "I don't mind. And you do seem…a little out of your depth here."

She looked at him, and he could see indecision in her eyes. And then Taylor said, in very firm, unchildlike tone, "John's going to help me find a suit and then we'll eat lunch."

Joss threw up her hands. "Okay. Fine. I think I'm outvoted."

"Yes!" Taylor grinned, made a fist, held it out to John.

John didn't even have to think; he bumped fists with the boy, then stood beside Joss as Taylor vanished back into the fitting room. "So he really didn't want to do this with his father?"

"I'm trying not to bias him against Paul. He just…doesn't like his father much. Sometimes I wonder just how much he remembers of his dad's uncontrollable anger before we divorced—I wonder if he remembers that and that's why he doesn't like his father much."

It wasn't John's place to say what he was actually thinking—which was that Taylor probably remembered a lot more than Joss gave him credit for and that was why the boy was so ambivalent—but he bit down on those words and said, instead, "Maybe. But I don't mind helping him—both of you— Joss."

Taylor rejoined them a moment later carrying the suit he'd just taken off. "Let me go put this back where I found it."

"You could just leave it in the dressing room. They'll put it back," John said.

Taylor shook his head. "Mom said I should always put stuff back where I found it." And he bounced off down the aisles back toward the mens' suits.

He looked at Joss, trying to hide a grin. "Raised a good boy there, Joss."

"Nah, he did that on his own. He's a good kid."

"No one does anything on their own. He's got a great mother." And he grinned wider at her as her face flushed a bright pink. He liked that pink…

He cleared his throat, force himself to think about something else. "So what occasion is this we're trying to find a suit for?"

"Valentine's dance at his school. Just a little thing in a school gym."

"When I was his age I didn't have the nerve to ask out the girl I wanted to go with. I ended up going with a bunch of my friends—and she came with a bunch of her girl friends. We still spent the evening together."

"John Reese, didn't have the nerve to ask a girl out? Now I've heard it all." But Joss's smile was warm. "No, according to him, he actually did ask a girl out. And she said yes. He said he really likes her."

"What do you think?"

"I haven't met her yet. Taylor told me her parents live overseas—her father's in the Diplomatic Security service, and her mother was born in India, now working as a doctor there. They sent her to the US to live with her uncle and aunt—her mother's older sister and brother-in law—while she goes to school here, but he says her Uncle and Aunt are very conservative, traditional Hindu and she's not really allowed to date. Taylor told her she emailed her Dad and Mom in India and asked them if she could go to the school dance—and they said yes, so her aunt and uncle couldn't say no. I'm almost tempted to take Taylor to the dance myself just so I can meet her, but at his age, parents are social poison."

"Trust Taylor. He knows the difference between right and wrong, and he knows he'll answer to you if his choice of friends leads him astray. He loves you and he doesn't want to disappoint you." John was certain of that.

And at just that moment Taylor bounced up. "Okay. I put that on back. Let's go find a suit."

"This store isn't the best one. There's another on a few doors down the mall that's a bit better." John stared walking, and Taylor and Joss fell in beside him.

"You would know, wouldn't you?" Joss smiled at him mischievously.

He just smiled back at her as they left that store and started heading down the mall concourse. He'd never liked shopping. Go in, grab what he needed and run, that was how he approached the miserable task of shopping; but with Joss and Taylor, he was suddenly realizing he didn't mind this as much as he thought he would. He shortened his strides to match theirs, stopping when they stopped. And so he found himself smiling when Joss stopped next to a large store window, with a mannequin displaying a truly lovely black formal gown. "Been a long time since I could go somewhere where I could get dressed up," and she sighed. "I mean, I wouldn't want to do that every night, but just once I'd love to be able to get dressed up." She looked at John, her eyes sparkling but with a slightly wistful look, and he heard the words she was thinking but hadn't spoken; _with you_.

He looked at the dress. Black. Velvet. A sheath dress; it would cling to Joss's curves, accentuate her waist and her chest. And yes, he _would_ love to see her dressed up…

Joss looked wistfully at the dress. She used to think she hated getting dressed up, but that dress was truly gorgeous, and she wished she had somewhere to wear something like that. And…she sneaked a peek at John's reflection in the store window. He probably hated events like that, but he was handsome and he'd really, really look good in formal evening wear…

She was interrupted when Taylor suddenly shot past both of them and ran into the dress shop. John peeked inside the window—at the far end of the store, a young girl was looking at dresses; she turned when Taylor tapped her shoulder. The smile of recognition that crossed her face needed no explanation.

Moments later the girl was following Taylor out of the store, heading toward them, and Joss couldn't help but smile. Long, thick black hair was pulled back in a braid hanging down her back, dark wire-rimmed glasses framed wide, innocent brown eyes, and her smile was shy but pretty. Her skin was several shades darker than John's, though not as dark as hers or Taylor's; but as Taylor walked up to her, beaming, she saw the texture of the girl's hair and the question was solved. This must be the half-Indian girl Taylor had asked to the Valentine's dance.

And the first words out of Taylor's mouth confirmed it. "Mom! This is Emilia. She's the girl I asked out to the dance. Lia, this is my mom."

The girl grinned at Taylor and held out a hand. "Hi, Taylor's Mom," she said as she shook Joss's hand.

Joss laughed aloud. "Ms. Carter will be fine. Nice to meet you." She shook the girl's hand. "So is it Lia or Emilia?"

"My name's Emilia, but Lia's a bit easier," she said with no trace of an accent. "Dad's Italian, in the Italian Diplomatic Security Service; Mom's Indian, a doctor in Mumbai. Dad fell in love and took a permanent posting to the Italian embassy to be with Mom and they got married there. They sent me here to live with Mom's sister—Aunt Savita and Uncle Avi, while I went to school. I was having a little trouble in my chemistry class earlier this year and I signed up for tutoring, and our chemistry teacher Mrs. Hewlett recommended Taylor."

"That's not how it went." Taylor rolled his eyes. "I was having problems in English Lit class and Lia tutored me. Mrs. Hewlett told me that Lia was having trouble in chemistry and suggested we tutor each other. That's how we met."

"Well, then if you're going to be that completely honest, then Kylie was picking me and Taylor made her stop." Lia folded her arms and glared at Taylor.

John thought his sides were going to burst as he fought to keep from laughing. Joss's stifled giggles didn't help either. "Okay, so are you here looking for a dress for the dance too?" he forced out through stiff lips.

"Yeah." Emilia blushed—and the rosy glow on her olive cheeks made her look suddenly charmingly pretty. "Dad and Mom both said yes, and Dad even sent me a prepaid gift card with money to buy a dress and jewelry and stuff, but Aunt Savi said she didn't approve of my going to a dance and she wouldn't take me shopping. And I sorta don't have any girl friends to go with."

"So you're shopping by yourself?" John groaned inwardly. He knew what that tone in Joss's voice meant—they were all in trouble now.

Lia shrugged. "Yeah. I guess. It's just that the other girls at school want to talk about boys and clothes and I don't really fit in. And Aunt Savi's really traditional Hindu and they don't approve of dating. But since Dad and Mom said I can go, they couldn't say no."

"They're just going to make it harder for you to go." Joss nodded, then turned to John—and he knew that sparkle in her eyes. Yep, they were in trouble. "John, why don't you and Taylor go shopping for a suit—I don't know much about guys' clothes anyway—and I'll take Lia looking for a dress."

Lia's eyes widened. "Oh, no—I don't want to be any bother, Ms. Carter, really…"

"You won't be a bother," Joss said cheerfully. "I don't know much about guys' clothes anyway. I'd just be a third wheel." Without waiting for John to say yes, she steered Lia back toward the front door of the store. "You fellas just call me when you're done, you have my number, John," she tossed back over her shoulder. And then she—and Lia—were gone.

Taylor stared after his mother, blinking. "Holy cow. Did my mother just take _my_ girlfriend shopping? And leave me with _her_ boyfriend?"

It was on the tip of John's tongue to correct the boy—he wasn't Joss's boyfriend…but he had a feeling if he so much as opened his mouth he was going to start laughing. And that wouldn't help the situation at all. "Come on, Taylor. Let's go get you a suit and then we can check out the new video games until your Mom and Lia get done. It'll take us less time to find a suit than it will for the girls to find a dress."

Alone in the Library, Harold was chuckling to himself as he dug around in his papers; Sam stared at him suspiciously as she walked into the Library and heard him laughing. "You're acting weird, Harold. Even for you."

Harold paused in the act of shuffling papers around on his desk. "I've been puzzling over the problem of what to get two of my best friends for Valentine's Day. I believe I have a solution…if I can find it…" He returned to digging through his desk for papers. "Here it is."

Sam snatched the paper from his hand. "Nice paper."

"It's a linen-cotton blend, very expensive. The law firm who uses this paper likes to make an impression."

"I'll say." She scanned it. "Harold, are you serious?"

"It's perfect. This firm is one which I already employ to handle assorted business matters, so after a brief introduction as my business partner, John and Joss should be free to enjoy their evening together without further interruption." Harold couldn't stop smiling.

Sam handed it back. "John's going to kill you. He hates getting dressed up."

"Somehow I doubt Mr. Reese will mind getting dressed for the occasion when his backup will be similarly dressed. Very elegantly so. And if I phrase the invitation correctly…"

Sam put her hands on her hips. "Harold. You're not seriously going to tell them they're there to check out a number? John will be packing when he walks in."

"Mr. Reese is always armed. No matter where he goes. I hardly think that carrying a gun will in any way hamper his enjoyment of the evening." He sat down in front of the computer, opened a connection to John's phone. "Mr. Reese?"


	2. Chapter 2: Ruse

**Chapter 2: Ruse**

At the mall, John checked on Taylor—the boy was looking at the next rack of pants over—then slipped his phone out of his pocket. "I'm a little busy at the moment, Finch."

"I understand that, but the Machine doesn't seem to understand that. It's given us a new number. I don't believe it's that urgent—you should finish your business—but as your phone's tracker currently shows you at the mall, perhaps, while you're there, you could pick up some black tie formal wear."

"I don't like formal occasions, Finch."

"I realize that, Mr. Reese, but this may be the only time to get close. Our target's name is Candice Olivera, and she's an executive from the California branch of the law firm James & Rowell." John recognized the name—he'd seen it on a couple of Finch's business papers. "She'll be coming into New York for the firm's annual business mixer tomorrow night and then leaving immediately after, so whatever the danger is that she's facing, it is likely going to be at this mixer. I've secured an invitation and would like you to be present." And then, with seeming casualness, Harold added, "If Detective Carter is not busy, perhaps you might consider bringing her along as backup. Just in case."

John understood a few things in that moment. One was that there wasn't really a number; every time the Machine gave them a number, it was urgent. Two, Harold had been listening in on their conversation and knew full well what he was doing here at the mall on a Friday afternoon; and Harold also had heard Joss's words and was, in his own way, trying to give them a Valentine's day gift.

But that didn't mean he wasn't going to play along with Harold's ruse. "All right. I'll pick up something while I'm here. And I'll let Joss know."

He hung up with Harold, and met Taylor's eyes. "Are you taking Mom out tomorrow night?"

John had to fight the grin. "I think so. If your Mom says yes. Are you gonna be okay with that?" He held his breath. As much as he hated formal dress occasions, seeing Joss in that dress she'd been staring at in the shop window would be… an experience. An experience he didn't want to miss. There'd been a few times, when he was with Jessica, when they'd had an opportunity to attend a formal event—usually a military function, and he'd been able to skip the tiresome task of shopping for something to wear by simply wearing his dress uniform. And he'd taken an almost overwhelming masculine pride at having a beautiful woman on his arm.

Now…well, he would have to find something to wear, but he'd again have a beautiful woman on his arm. Jocelyn Carter. One of the most beautiful people he'd ever met. Jessica had been physically pretty; but Joss had an inner fire, an inner strength to her that shone out in her eyes and transcended something as mundane as physical beauty. Whatever it was she had—he wasn't going to try to define it, wasn't sure he could—it rendered physical beauty insignificant. She attracted him in ways even Jessica hadn't, drew him in even against his will. He'd felt, early on when he'd met her—when he'd first realized he was attracted to her in ways that had nothing to do with their respective jobs and everything to do with her as a fellow human being and, more importantly, as a woman—that he'd felt vaguely as if he was betraying Jessica's memory. But she was so different from Jessica, and he was attracted to her in such a drastically different way than he'd been attracted to Jessica, that in the end it wasn't really that hard to look past that and just enjoy being with her.

"I have no problem with that. You'll keep Mom safe just like you kept me. And," Taylor grinned mischievously, "If she's busy with you, she won't be watching the clock waiting to jump on me for missing curfew."

"Hey. You still need to be home when your mother wants you to be, okay?" John reminded the boy sharply. "When is your school dance over?"

"Eleven. But I was hoping maybe me and a couple of the guys could grab something to eat and be home at midnight. It's Saturday night, I don't have to be at school on Sunday, I can sleep in, and Mom knows the guys I want to hang with after the dance so she won't be too worried that I'll get in trouble."

John made a quick decision. "I can keep your Mom occupied so she won't be counting the minutes, but I expect you to keep your end of the bargain. If you get in trouble or one of your friends wants you to do something that you know your Mom won't approve, part ways and we'll come pick you up. Or I'll come pick you up."

"You got it." Taylor turned back to the racks, looking at pants, and John dialed Joss's phone.

"Hey. Are you guys done already?" Joss answered her phone. "I mean, I know you guys are fast, but I didn't think it was going to be that fast."

"No, we aren't done yet. Harold called. We got a number."

"Oh no. Let me come and get Taylor—" she started reaching for her purse.

"No. Harold said it wasn't that urgent. The number is on a plane here to attend a business mixer at her law firm here in New York tomorrow night. Harold asked me to attend."

A number? That wasn't urgent? Joss grinned at the phone, knowing he couldn't see it. She'd been working with the guys for a long time, and they still underestimated her. Like now. There was never, ever a time when they got a number and it wasn't urgent. But she'd been thinking aloud when she had seen that dress in the window, and although she hadn't thought about it at the time, she'd bet her pension that Harold had heard it…and so had John, and the two of them were now teaming up to give her a Valentine's day surprise.

Okay, she'd play along. "So we have time to finish up here?"

"Yes, we do. But…while you're picking a dress for Taylor's girlfriend, pick something up for yourself, because you're attending that formal business mixer with me." Yep. If she hadn't been sure before, she sure as hell was certain now. John Reese hated formal occasions; the only reason he would invite her out to one was if he really wanted to go himself.

"I'll do that. I'll call you when we're done." She was grinning as she got up and tapped on the dressing room door. "You doing okay, Lia?"

"Yeah. This last one's a bit tricky to get out of. The ribbons across the back keep catching on my braid." A moment of silence. "Okay. I think I got it."

A moment later the door opened and Lia came out holding three dresses on hangers over one arm and another on a hanger in her other. "I really like this one, Ms. Carter."

Joss looked it over critically. When they'd first started looking at dresses, the salesgirl had pointed them in the direction of a rack with some popular styles, and Joss had found herself mildly shocked by some of them. Plunging necklines, barely-there skirts, some with so little fabric it hadn't even qualified as a dress to her. "I don't really like these," Lia finally said, sounding frustrated. "I want something nice, and these show too much skin. Dad and Mom said they want me to take a picture in the dress I finally choose and I don't want them to see me in something that looks like this. These are… indecent."

Joss breathed a sigh of relief. "Good, because if you tried to pick one of these I would have tried to talk you out of it. I don't like these either—I wouldn't want any daughter of mine going out in public wearing any of those. So…what do you want?"

"I have ugly knees." Lia turned pink as Joss giggled. "I don't want anything that shows my knees. And I don't want my chest or back showing either. But I don't want a long-sleeved dress, it'll be hot in the gym."

Joss led the way to the mid-length racks and they finally selected four that they both liked. Tea-length, all of them; not too long, because this wasn't a formal school dance, but not too short that Lia was uncomfortable with her knees showing. Lia didn't like pink, and that color didn't work with her skin tone either; they eventually settled on two tank dresses with flowing chiffon skirts, one in teal and one in lilac; another scoop-necked dress with ribbons that criss-crossed the back in a lattice pattern with a shin-length skirt in a champagne color, and the last one, a v-neck with an empire waist and a modest tea-length skirt in sapphire satin. And it was the sapphire one that Lia was holding up now. "I really liked this one."

Joss nodded. "I did too. It's modest, it covers everything you wanted covered, but it's still pretty and fairly modern. It doesn't look like you're wearing your grandmother's dress."

"And I can afford it with what's on the card Dad sent me." Lia looked pleased. "And there's just enough left to get a pair of shoes."

"Good. Now, there's a favor I want to ask you. Can you help me pick out a dress? John just called, there's a business mixer his…boss…wants him to attend tomorrow, and he wants me to come along. So now _I_ need a dress."

Lia grinned. "This is neat. It's like when I was young, shopping with my Mom. Taylor's real lucky to have you."

"I'm lucky to have him." Although, shopping with Lia had reminded her of a long-ago wish to have a daughter. She would have liked to have a girl to do...girl things, like dress shopping…with. "All right. I already saw a dress that I liked, I'll go get it and we can see how it looks."

It was the same dress that she'd seen on the mannequin in the shop window, just in her size. A sheath style that hugged her curves in all the right places and gave her a nice hourglass figure, it had a high neck with a white chiffon cowl that came to just under her collarbone. The ends of the scarf that formed the cowl was caught at the shoulder with rhinestone pins, then followed the plunging backline until it stopped in the middle of her lower back. A rhinestone ornament snugged the white cowl end at the base of her spine, and then a white chiffon train swept downward and behind her for a bare half-step. Not long enough to hamper movement, but long enough to be elegant.

"What do you think?" she said finally to Lia as she came out of the dressing room wearing the dress.

"It's gorgeous. I don't see how he could _not_ like the dress." Lia smiled. "You're so pretty. I wish I were that pretty."

"You're pretty enough to catch my son's attention. That's an achievement," Joss grinned. 'All right, let me get out of this, and then we'll go looking for shoes." She had formal heels in her closet that she could wear with this dress, but Lia needed some.

And shoe shopping was another adventure. Joss discovered that Lia was most comfortable in sneakers or flat boots, and had never worn a pair of heels in her life. She also discovered that the fashion for skyscraper heels seemed to have permeated the juniors department, and even she would have been uncomfortable going to a school dance wearing them. "I don't think we're going to find anything that works," Lia sighed finally, despondent.

"Oh, hi, Lia!" and suddenly there was another girl standing in front of Joss and Lia where they sat on chairs in the shoe store. "Getting shoes for the dance?"

"Hi, Kylie," Lia said, but there was no warmth in her voice, and Joss remembered what Lia had said_. Kylie was picking on me and Taylor made her stop._ She was going to have to get that story out of him when they got home.

"Getting shoes for the dance?" Kylie's smile was bright, but Joss didn't like it; it felt false, and there was a lurking meanness in the back of the other girl's eyes. She hadn't liked Kylie Whistler when Taylor had first introduced her to Joss as his date to the freshman prom three years ago, and that dislike hadn't changed.

"Don't look so sad, Lia. You're not cut out to look like the rest of us, so you shouldn't try to be something you're not. Just wear those flats you usually wear. They'll be fine, it's not like anyone's actually going to ask you to dance." Kylie gave Lia a condescending pat on the shoulder. "Gotta run. See you tomorrow night." And she bounced off.

"I don't know what Taylor ever saw in her," Joss said quickly, shaking her head, pretending not to notice the hurt look in Lia's eyes. "I didn't like her when I met her his freshman year in high school, and I still don't like her."

"Kylie can be really nice when she wants to be. But if she doesn't see a need to be nice, she won't." Lia sighed. "Taylor and I are both juniors this year. She's a senior and she's graduating this spring so she won't be in school next year. But three years ago when Taylor asked her out, she said yes because she'd gotten into trouble a couple of times for drinking and driving. She found out you were a cop and that's why she hooked up with Taylor, hoping to get in his good graces so if she got in trouble again she could use you to get her out of it. Then Taylor told her you were a homicide detective, and she dropped him. Didn't want to have anything to do with him. He found out really quickly why she did that—and he hasn't liked her since."

Manipulative. Yep, there had to be a reason why she hadn't liked the blond girl at their first meeting. "You said earlier that Kylie was picking on you and Taylor made her stop."

Lia grinned. "Yeah, he did. Aunt Savi came to pick me up from school one day and Kylie saw her in her sari—the traditional clothing for Indian women. She started calling me the 'Untouchable' after that, and when she learned that the Hindu people don't eat cows, she got into my locker one day and stuffed it full of frozen raw beef. As it thawed in my locker it got blood all over everything and when I opened my locker at the end of the day all this stinking raw meat fell out. It was _so_ gross." She shuddered.

Joss could empathize completely.

"Everything in my locker was ruined. Everything had to be thrown out. I had to work out a payment arrangement with the library to pay for the library books that got ruined; the librarian wanted me to have Aunt Savi lodge a complaint against Kylie's parents and get them to pay for the spoiled books, but I didn't even bother; Aunt Savi doesn't really speak much English, and Uncle Avi doesn't get involved in any of my school affairs. I gave them my lunch money for three months and spent my lunch periods in the library.

"Are those books paid off?" _She_ _shouldn't have to go a whole day without lunch._

"Yeah, this was back in our sophomore year—last year. Then Kylie got her new boyfriend, one of the football players, to stop me on my way into the cafeteria and take my lunch money. I…don't like Steve Woods, he's on the weightlifting team and he's mean. I was scared of him so I just gave it to him. Taylor found out one day—it was right after we'd started tutoring each other—he saw Steve stop me in the hall and grab my hair and pull on it until I gave him my money—and he stopped Steve and told Steve to give me my money back. Steve turned and tried to punch him. Taylor got mad and swung back and we all ended up in the principal's office for fighting. Aunt Savi was really, really mad and told Uncle Avi, and I got in trouble. And Taylor said they called you, and he got in trouble with you for fighting."

Joss shook her head. "Taylor wouldn't tell me why he took a swing at that other boy. I grounded him. Took away his video games for a week. If he'd told me this was why, I wouldn't have been mad at him. I'm gonna have a little talk with him about being honest with me." She frowned as Lia leaned over to unbuckle the strap on the shoe she'd just tried on. "But this wasn't your fault, so why did you get in trouble?"

"Because Uncle Avi said a good girl wouldn't have attracted the wrong kind of attention like that, and I'd disgraced the family and myself by getting into an altercation with a boy. There's this whole mindset where males are superior and women are inferior and we're just supposed to give into them and let them have what they want. It's not fair." She put the shoe she'd just unbuckled back into the shoebox with a little more force than necessary.

"It wasn't your fault, Lia," Joss said. "Don't think that. You didn't do anything wrong."

"I know. It's just really hard to remember that sometimes when I'm constantly being told that nothing I do is what a good girl does."

There was so much unhappiness in Lia's voice. Joss found her instincts pricking her. "Have you told your Dad and Mom that you're not happy with your Aunt and Uncle?" she said casually as she helped pack up another pair of rejected shoes back in their box.

"I don't want to worry Mom and Dad. It's bad enough that Mom has to worry about her work and Dad has his job in diplomatic security."

_Meaning she hasn't told them she's not happy._ Joss could read between the lines. _Well, it's not my place to tell them, but at least I can let her know someone cares._ "I know you have Taylor's cell phone number, but here's mine, too. If you need help or someone to talk to, we're right here. And no, you won't be a bother. Here. I want you to have this." She pressed her card into Lia's hand.

"Thanks, Ms. Carter." Lia smiled as she carefully slipped it into her pocket.

"All right. We still have to find shoes..."

But Lia shook her head. "I think I'll be fine. Kylie's right, it's not like anyone's going to ask me to dance. Taylor isn't really the kind—I don't think he even knows how to—so I have a pair of flats I can wear." She stood. "It was really nice meeting you, and the whole afternoon's been a lot of fun. Thank you."

Joss leaned in, impulsively, and gave her a hug back. "You're welcome. Let's do this again, okay? Maybe when Taylor asks you out to prom."


	3. Chapter 3: Lesson

**Chapter 3: Lesson**

"You _are_ going to ask her to prom, right?"

Taylor rolled his eyes at her from across the dinner table. "Yes, Mom. It's kind of an unspoken rule that the girl who goes with you to the Valentine's dance is the same one you take to prom. It's sort of a subtle sign to everyone who your girl is and who your guy is and that helps you not ask someone who's already got a date."

John shook his head. "School's gotten a lot more complicated than when I was in school," she said as he ate another bite of the chicken and broccoli Joss had cooked.

"Not really. You just have to know who's who." Taylor speared a clump of broccoli with his fork. "So, Mom, you and John are going out to some formal thing tomorrow night to help someone?"

"Yes." She was about to tell John that she knew it wasn't a number, but she bit her tongue on it. Let him and Harold think they were getting one over on her; she really didn't mind getting dressed up and playing John's girlfriend for a while. To deflect him, she said, "You never told me that when you got in trouble for fighting with Steve Wood last year it was because he was picking on Lia."

"She told you about that?" Joss nodded. "Yeah, I figured she might. Even though we both promised we'd never talk about it again."

"Taylor, why didn't you tell me that you weren't picking a fight with Steve, you were defending Lia? I wouldn't have gotten mad at you. Not for that. I'm proud of you for sticking up for someone who couldn't defend herself."

Taylor looked down at his plate and shrugged, although the blush on his cheeks told her he was pleased that she'd said she was proud of him. "Lia and I both decided that we weren't going to talk about it. She got in a lot of trouble with her Aunt and Uncle for fighting—it would have been even worse if they'd seen her backed up against the locker with Steve's fist in her hair. They didn't look at it as Steve's fault for being a bully, all they could see was that she let a boy touch her." And now Taylor looked serious. "I don't know what really happened, but she was walking sort of stiffly for a couple of days. She tried to say her back hurt from when Steve shoved her into the locker and her spine hit a locker lock, but I don't know if I believe her."

John frowned. "You think they hurt her?" There was an edge in his voice.

Taylor must not have noticed it, because he never looked up from his plate. "I don't know. She wouldn't say."

John and Joss shared significant glances across the table. Joss could see John was just as worried—and angry—at the thought of Lia being hurt as she herself was. "The next time you see her look like that or act like that, Taylor, let me know. I can talk to her when I come to pick you up from school." No way was a seventeen year old girl going to be able to withhold information that Military Intelligence Analyst Warrant Officer Jocelyn Carter wanted. And no way was she going to stand by and watch a sweet child like Lia be abused.

"You done?" John asked as Taylor put his fork down on his empty plate and started to stand.

"Yeah. Why?"

John grinned. "Well, Kylie told Lia that no one would ask her to dance. I thought we'd prove her wrong."

"You can dance?" from Taylor and Joss both at once.

"I don't often. But yes, I can. Never give a weapon to a man who can't dance. Old Chinese saying." John wiped his mouth with a napkin and put his own empty plate in the sink. "Okay. Let's go to the living room, and we can move the coffee table out of the way."

With Taylor sitting on the couch, wide-eyed, John stood in the center of the room, Joss facing him. He turned the radio to a random music station that was playing something slow. "All right. One hand goes around your partner's waist here," and he rested his right hand on the delicate inward curve of Joss's waist, "and with your other you take her hand." His fingers twined with hers, her smaller hand almost disappearing into his, her fingers and grip warm and sure and trusting. "Now, I'll take a step to the right with my right foot, my left one will follow. And I'll take your mother with me." He took that step, and Joss followed him. "Now, press backward gently on her hand, that indicates she takes the lead and steps back." He did, and Joss obligingly took a step backward. "Now she steps to the left, and I'll follow her." Action suited word. "Then she presses back on my hand, and I take a step back, and we basically end up right where we started. It's very basic, very simple, you're moving in a square. Let me demonstrate." And he stopped speaking as his body flowed next to Joss's in the steps of the dance.

He didn't dance often. Jessica had taught him to dance, and he'd liked dancing with her. And when he'd lost her, he'd avoided any thought, any occasion, where he might have to because the memory hurt too much. He'd only danced with two women in his adult life—Jessica and Zoe. He hated dancing with Zoe because despite knowing the steps and knowing her, he'd still ended up stepping all over her feet and then he felt clumsy and awkward.

But dancing with Joss didn't feel like that at all. He didn't even need to think. His body moved with hers, beside hers, and he didn't have to think. Just feel. Feel the warmth of her hand in his, her waist under the curve of his other hand; the gentle pressure of her hand in his and against his, indicating where she was going to step next, a gentle request for him to move with her. Her brown eyes sparkled as she looked up at him, and he knew there was an answering light in his own. And as they moved around the living room, he finally noticed the song playing.

How ironic that it was going to be Valentine's day. Despite all of his efforts to maintain a distance between them, it was becoming evident to him that he was hopelessly lost. Gone. Lost in the warmth and laughter and yes, love, he saw in Joss's brown eyes; his darkness swallowed up and chased away by the light that poured out of her soul. He wanted get lost in that light, give himself up, surrender to her and never look back.

She was in heaven. His hand was warm around hers. So strong, his hands were—she'd seen him punch people into unconsciousness. Break bones. But he held her hand as if she were made of eggshells, but not as if he were afraid—more as if he was protecting, sheltering, cradling her, wrapping her around with his own strength.

It was crazy. She was crazy. She was a cop, and he was a wanted man—for pity's sake, he was wanted in four countries! But even she could see that he wasn't a ruthless killer, wasn't the cold assassin that his life and his job with the CA had forced him to be. He was, at heart, simply a good man with a complicated life and history.

And Paul…oh, Paul. She'd loved him. Loved him enough to marry him, loved him enough to try and make it work, until finally she understood that despite her determination, love was a two-way street and she couldn't make it work if he wouldn't meet her in the middle. And that trying to stick it out was hurting Taylor, her precious, precious son, who she loved more than her own life, more than anything else in the world. And so she'd ripped her own heart out when she said goodbye to Paul, sacrificing what she'd thought, at the time, was her own happiness with the man she loved in favor of what her son needed.

And she'd thought she'd never love anyone the way she loved Paul. Never fall in love again, never even physically want a man the way she'd wanted Paul. She'd never taken her maiden name back because she believed she'd never love anyone else the way she'd loved him. She'd been sure that someday he'd see the error of his ways, would come back, and they'd be able to pick up the pieces.

But when he finally did come back she'd understood that it was over. Yes, she loved him; yes, she still firmly believed that she would never love any man like that again. But she couldn't get back together with Paul—it wasn't going to happen. And when she'd seen him, on their second meeting after they'd set up the court-ordered visits for Taylor, with another woman on his arm, she knew that was irrevocably, finally over. And she'd resigned herself to lonely, empty nights, thrown herself into her work to avoid thinking of the other side of her bed lying empty; the spot in her life that she would have loved to have filled with a strong, wonderful man.

But that was then. This was now.

She didn't know when, over the last three years, she'd started falling in love with John Reese—but she knew that's where she was now. Completely, hopelessly in love. And maybe her relationship with Cal Beecher had been her subconscious effort to resist not getting drawn in, not being drawn into this relationship that her heart, her soul and yes, her body—wanted. She was acutely conscious of his hand on her waist, and a small part of her mind desperately wished Taylor wasn't here and this dance lesson would become…a different kind of dance.

She wanted it, wanted him. He wanted it. Wanted her—she could see it in his eyes as he looked down at her as they turned around the living room. And that surprised her even as a slow fire started down somewhere below her belt. It had been a long time since any man had looked at her with that kind of need and hunger in his eyes. And the naked hunger in his eyes equaled the hunger she felt for him. They didn't have to say a word; it hung unspoken between them. Only the flick of his eyes, in Taylor's direction, betrayed that he too, knew this wasn't the time for this.

It was too bad Taylor was here. If the boy hadn't been standing there watching, he could have swept Joss off her feet, carried her to her bedroom, and made love to her. All night. Jesus, but he wanted her so much right now.

It was crazy. Completely crazy. He was a criminal. He was darkness and Death personified. He was a ruthless killer, irredeemable. After he'd lost Jessica, after her death, he'd lost himself completely. Ignored the world, his life, everything. He'd felt there was nothing left to live for, nothing else he had to do. No purpose, no reasons.

And then he'd met Joss. She was everything he wasn't. So completely the opposite of himself and who he was; light to his darkness, sunlight to his shade, warmth to his arctic cold. She'd shone her light—her simple humanity—into every corner of his soul, warming him, thawing him.

Especially his heart. He had no idea when he first knew he loved her; when he'd realized that he'd fallen in love with her. But here, in the living room now, the words and feelings were so heavy in the air between them that he could almost see it, feel it. And when he looked into her eyes, he stopped moving, stopped dancing. Almost seemed to stop breathing. Because what he felt in his soul he could see shining out of her eyes.

He loved her. Wanted her, wanted to be with her, wanted to be beside her. And, on a physical level that was somehow deeper than anything he'd felt before, he wanted to be in her, wanted to bring her—both of them—that pleasure that two human bodies could find with each other.

A throat being cleared behind them broke the thick, expectant silence. "If you two are gonna start making out, I'm gonna go to my room. Ewww."

Whatever it was in the room with them broke, and Joss started laughing, almost hysterically, so hard she had to clutch John for support. He started chuckling too, and suddenly all three of them were on the couch laughing until they were breathless. "Sorry, Taylor," John was the first to be able to find words—and his composure. "This was supposed to be a dancing lesson."

"Yeah. I got that." He sighed. "It looks pretty simple, you know, Mom. I don't know why you make it look so hard."

"I make what look so hard, baby?"

"Kissing John. I mean, Dad sucks face with his new girlfriend all the time. Even in public. So gross. But…John really likes you, in ways that Dad never did, and in ways that Dad doesn't even like his new girlfriend. So I don't know why it's so hard for you to just come right out and tell him you love him."

"Taylor…it's not that simple." Joss sighed, all laughter gone.

"Sorry, Mom, I don't understand why it isn't simple. You love John. John loves you. John likes me. I don't have a problem if you wanna go out with him—I'd like it if you did. Dad looks so happy with his new girlfriend even though I know he doesn't like her even a tenth as much as John likes you, and I want to see you happy too. You look so lonely, sometimes, Mom." He looked up at her. "I worry about you. You don't really seem happy a lot of the time. Sort of sad. Since Dad left, I've never seen you smile at someone like you smile at John. I know you think I don't notice, but I do. So I really don't see what's so hard about you telling him you like him." He shrugged. "I'm gonna go to bed now. It's been a long day." He stopped at the doorway of the living room. "Oh, and Mom—I'm glad you liked Lia."

"She's a really sweet girl. I liked her better than I liked that Kylie girl you brought home a few years back. I like Kylie even less now knowing she's a bully. So I don't have a problem with you taking her to the dance. I don't have a problem taking her to Junior prom. And I loved being able to help her find a dress. It was sorta fun having a little girl to do that with." She smiled. "Good night, Taylor."

"Good night, Mom. Remember you have your own dance to go to tomorrow night so don't stay up too late, y'hear?" he mimicked her voice perfectly, and she threw a couch pillow at him as he disappeared from sight, laughing as he sprinted down the hallway to his room and shut the door.

"He's got a smart mouth. But he means well." She said affectionately as she got up off the couch, crossed the room and picked up the pillow from the living room floor.

"He's perceptive. And he loves his mother and he wants you to be happy." John got up from the couch. "Joss…I want you to be happy too."

She couldn't speak as he crossed the floor to stand in front of her, reaching for his coat with one hand. "I want you to be happy too, Joss. I can't see how having me in your life could do that for you—don't understand how you can love someone like me. I don't know what you see in me. I'm not worth you. But…I love you." The last words came out in a rush, as if he were afraid he would lose his nerve before he got the words out…and then swiftly, suddenly, he leaned in, pressed his lips for one fleeting moment against hers, and then was gone.

Hands on her body. Warm, large strong hands. Hands that could punch people into unconsciousness, hands that could kill. But those hands were sliding up between her thighs, parting them, and she felt a rush of heat suffuse her body as those hands drifted closer to the core of her body, and she mewed a little in desire and need and pumped her hips upward, desperate for that touch…

And Joss sat bolt upright in bed, heart racing, blood pounding. Her t-shirt and sheets were soaked with sweat, and she could feel the wetness between her legs at the dream she'd just had… she lay back down, let her hands drift lower.

John Reese. He'd said he loved her right before he slipped out the door, and damn if her traitorous mind hadn't taken that and un with it. She closed her eyes, imagining him here in bed with her as her hands moved—she knowing from experience, from too many nights waking up from dreams of him—to know she wouldn't be able to get back to sleep until she did something about the fire in her body.

And by the time she eased the fire—it helped, but not all the way. Just a little. Nowhere near as satisfying as it used to be—her body knew she'd been trying to trick it, and it wanted the real thing, now—she'd come up with a plan. She hoped Taylor wouldn't mind staying at Grandmom's that night after he got done at her school dance, because Joss Carter definitely wanted some real fun of her own that night after her dance…


	4. Chapter 4: Prep

**Chapter 4: Prep**

"There isn't really a number, is there."

Finch hesitated—then sighed. "No, Mr. Reese. There isn't. What gave it away?"

John shook his head, smiling a little. "You need to come up with more convincing cover stories. We never get a number from The Machine that isn't urgent."

"The moment was opportune. I overheard Joss say that she wished she could go somewhere with you. And the dress she was looking at was truly beautiful. The invitation just came yesterday, and it is unfortunately one of those events to which I'm usually compelled to go. I dislike the sociopolitical grandstanding, but it's part of doing business. I did briefly consider taking Ms. Shaw—"

"Nuh-uh. No way. Absolutely not. I plan on spending tonight with the real love of my life. Even though he snores and sheds and takes up more than his fair share of my bed, he's still better than a lot of male humans I know." Sam was stretched out on the couch at the far end of the Library's main room, with Bear curled up beside her blissfully getting petted.

"—with me, but somehow I doubt she will have as good a time as you and Detective Carter will," Finch continued as if Shaw hadn't spoken. "I believe Bear would benefit more from her heavy petting than I would."

John choked on his coffee. There was a strangled snort from the couch as Sam said, "Seriously, did you just crack a joke, Finch?"

"I never joke, Ms. Shaw, it was an accurate assessment of my current evaluation of the relationship you share with our erstwhile four-footed teammate."

"Uh-huh. Okay." Sam sounded unconvinced; and only John, from where he was standing by Harold's computer desk, could see the tiny wicked half-smile that barely curved Harold's lips.

"Is it okay to wear a tie, or do I absolutely have to wear a bowtie?" He studied the two lengths of silk in front of him. Ties he could deal with. Bow ties flustered him.

"A bow tie, Mr. Reese, absolutely. This is a business partner of mine and appearances are important. Which is why I asked you to go with Detective Carter. She can pull off elegant and sophisticated, whereas sophisticated is not Ms. Shaw's forte."

"Hey." Sam struggled to sit up, but Bear refused to move. "Damn it, move over, you big walking muff, I have to go beat some sense into Finch there…"

John escaped the Library with the sound of Sam's threats ringing in his ears, bringing a smile to his face. Whether either Finch or Shaw realized it or not, their initial hostility towards each other had evolved into a wary respect for each other's skills and abilities, and they might, in time, become friends. In the meantime, however, he was heading over to Joss's place to help Taylor dress. He'd drop the boy off at the school dance, then come back and take Joss to the mixer.

He wanted to put off putting on the tie until the last possible moment—he hated the feeling of something around his neck. Too much potential for a hostile to grab and use against him. So when he rang Joss's doorbell—contrary to his usual custom of inviting himself in via lockpicks and the back door—he was still carrying the tie.

Joss yanked the door open on his second ring—and he barely stopped himself from laughing. Her hair was in curlers and she had some kind of cream on her face, but her eyes were sparkling and happy and her smile was broadly exuberant. "Come on in. I'm trying to get Taylor ready while I'm trying to get ready. Give me a few minutes."

He stepped into the living room and closed the door as Joss yelled up the stars, "Taylor! John's here!"

"Cool!" Pounding footsteps on the stairs, and suddenly Taylor was squeezing past Joss on the steps. "Are you gonna drive us to the dance?"

"Yes. I'll take you to pick Lia up, drop both of you off at the dance, then come back and pick your Mom up and take her out to the business dinner. You said a handful of your friends are going out after the dance to hang out, so if you can have them drop you off back at the school I can pick you up there around midnight—" he stopped because Taylor was shaking his head.

"Mom called Grandmom last night. Said she was going to be working tonight and asked if I could stay over there. So after the dance, my friend Manny's older brother's going to drop Lia off at home and me off at Grandmom's, and Mom'll pick me up from Grandmom's tomorrow morning. And I texted Lia with the plan and she said she's cool with that. Manny's older brother is in the Marines, home on leave, and Mom's met him and likes him, so you don't have to worry about who I'm with."

John understood a couple of things at once. One, his hasty kiss of the night before had been understood—and two, Joss was definitely interested, or she wouldn't have arranged for them to have the entire night uninterrupted an alone.

A certain part of his anatomy was perking up at the thought.

"Okay. Are you ready?" He put the ties down on the coffee table, then put two small cardboard boxes also on the table.

"Yep!" Taylor was bouncing in eagerness. "How do I look?"

"You look great." John reached out and gave the tie a twitch, settling it around Taylor's neck, then held out one of the boxes. "I stopped at the florist. It's customary, when a boy takes a girl to a dance, he brings the flowers. So here's a boutonniere for you," he opened the box, pinned the blue rose into place on Taylor's lapel, and handed him the box. "This one goes on Lia's wrist. You put it on her when you pick it up." Taylor nodded solemnly as he tucked the box carefully under one arm. "All right. Let's go. Lia's waiting."

She was indeed; out on the sidewalk in front of an old brownstone not that far from Taylor's and Joss's house. As they pulled up, John could see tension in her shoulders, see the lurking unhappiness in her eyes; and behind her, he could see two older people—her aunt and uncle, he supposed—standing in the doorway of the house. They frowned and looked disapproving; the woman could have soured lemons with her glare. Lia herself was tense and unhappy, and her eyes were suspiciously damp.

He stepped out of the car, walked Taylor up the front walk. Taylor was staring tongue-tied at Lia as he fumbled with putting the single blue rose, on its elastic band, around her wrist, and John suppressed a smile as he turned to her Aunt and Uncle. "We'll have Lia back by eleven," he told them—but it didn't ease the glare; if anything, the woman looked even angrier. As Taylor and Lia went down the walk, and he followed them, he could feel the two people glaring at his back, and he felt vaguely worried—and annoyed.

There was nothing wrong with a young girl going to a chaperoned school dance; Taylor had a good head on his shoulders, put there by a good mother with a clear, firm sense of right and wrong, which she'd imparted to her son; and they'd made arrangements to be chaperoned by an adult coming back. And Taylor knew to call him and Joss if he needed anything or if anything went wrong, and John trusted him to keep his promises. Coed dances might be frowned on in the tradition of the country they were from, but here in the US it was part of growing up, and both Taylor and Lia were sensible kids. It didn't seem fair that Lia would be made so unhappy over a simple, innocent little thing like this by her guardians.

Well, her Aunt and Uncle would have to learn to live with it. Her parents had said yes; her father had even given his daughter extra money to buy a dress with; there was nothing her aunt and uncle could say or do.

Lia started relaxing as Taylor helped her get into the car, but didn't breathe a sigh of relief until they were around the corner and heading for the school. "Whew. I thought for a while that Aunt Savi was going to stop me. I'm glad you came when you did." And then she said, shyly, "You look really nice, Taylor."

"Yeah. Mom's boyfriend took me shopping for a suit while my mom took my girlfriend shopping for a dress, I swear it's a conspiracy." Then he looked at his tie—and the color of her dress. "John…my tie matches Lia's dress."

"Yes. It does." John was enjoying every minute of this.

"And you got blue roses that match her dress."

"Yes."

"Um…did Mom text you a picture of the dress Lia chose just so you could pick the tie and flowers to match?"

"Yes she did."

"Man. Mom really does like Lia, doesn't she?"

John couldn't help it; he laughed aloud.

He wasn't laughing when he rang the doorbell to Joss's house half an hour later after dropping Taylor and Lia off at their school.

Joss looked different when she opened the door this time. Gone were the curlers; now her hair cascaded to her shoulders in delicate little curls. A mist of perfume hung around her, a delicate bouquet of flowers and fruit scents, not a bold, musky, attention-demanding scent like Zoe's. Cold cream was gone, replaced by soft tints of subtle brown around her eyes making her eyes seem larger and brighter; a soft rosy blush on her cheeks made her look younger and innocent, yet sexy and beautiful at the same time. And the dress that she'd been admiring in the store, the black velvet sheath, hugged her figure in all the right places. She had a gorgeous hourglass shape that he didn't see often in her police uniform or her regular everyday clothes.

He couldn't think of a single thing to say. So, instead, he held out the bouquet of roses that he'd picked from the florist at the same time he'd chosen Taylor's and Lia's flowers. Deep crimson roses with a delicate yet heady scent; the color of love, of desire. There was no doubt in his mind of how he wanted the night to go.

And when she looked up at him after taking the flowers, there was no doubt in his mind of which way she wanted the night to go. "Come on in. I'm almost ready, I just need to finish my makeup and put my shoes on. Let me put these in water first." And she turned and headed toward the kitchen.

And for the first time he saw the back of the dress.

His jaw dropped—he had to force himself to step into the house, robotically closed the door behind him. He hadn't seen the back of the dress at the store; or if he did, he hadn't noticed. But the plunging back line framed the creamy coffee skin of Joss's back perfectly in the white chiffon cowl, and the elegant small white train behind her followed her every move, glided with her steps. Graceful and elegant. Sophisticated. Just like Harold had wanted. No, he couldn't imagine Shaw being able to wear this dress. Not the way Joss was wearing it.

And suddenly all he wanted was to pull it off and get her out of it.

"John?" She paused in the act of arranging the flowers in a vase. "Are you okay?" She looked down at herself, then looked back up at him, a shadow of anxiety in her eyes. "Does it not look right?"

He found his voice from somewhere down in his shoes; his heart was somewhere in his throat. "No, no, you look…fine. Great." And then what he was really thinking slipped out. "Jesus, Joss. I don't think I can spend the whole night staring at you in that dress."

She frowned. "John, you saw this dress in the store. You knew what it looked like."

"I _looked_ at the dress. I didn't actually _see_ it." He hadn't really paid attention to the dress; he'd been imagining the woman he loved in it, and what she would look like when he peeled it off her and got her out of it. Seeing her actually in it hit him like a fist to the gut…and electricity to his groin.

She stepped out of the kitchen, and he simply couldn't keep his hands off her anymore. He stepped behind her, pushed her hair off the nape of her neck, and dropped a light, feathery kiss at the base of her neck, right at the top of her spine, as his fingers trailed down the smooth expanse of her back. She gave a soft sigh that turned his knees to jelly and his blood to liquid fire.

"We could always just stay here," he said thickly, completely forgetting that he and Harold had told her they were going out to this mixer to keep an eye on a number.

"We could, but then Harold would be cheated out of his attempt to give us a Valentine's day gift. In his own way." Joss smiled sweetly and slipped gracefully out of his arms.

His mind stumbled over her words. "You knew it was a setup?"

She walked back to him, chuckled as she picked up the bowtie from where he'd dropped it on the coffee table. "John, when are you and Finch going to stop underestimating me? Yes, I knew it was a setup. You—we've—never gotten a number that wasn't urgent. It was a transparent attempt at getting the two of us some time alone together, and you're being unusually dense—even for you—if you think I didn't see that from the start. I figured out your work with the Machine—you think I couldn't figure out a blatant setup?"

"Guilty." He stood there feeling foolish as her hands flew on the bow tie, weaving the little bit of fabric around his neck until she was done. He and Harold should have known there wasn't much that got past Joss Carter.

"There. Perfect. You know, it's nice to know that, as skilled as you are at a lot of things, there are still some things you can't do. Like figure me out. And tying a bowtie."

"I can field-strip a 45 in the dark upside down but I've never been able to figure those damn things out," he sighed as she patted the edge of the tie into place and stepped back.

"That's okay. You don't have to as long as you're with me," Joss gave him a sweetly malicious smile. "Let me slip on some shoes, grab my purse, and we can go. I figure we'll spend maybe an hour at the mixer, just long enough to nibble a little and have some fun. Then we'll come back here…and the real fun can begin."

His mind tumbled straight into the gutter. "I'll be waiting. Don't take too long."

She smiled at him. "I won't."

She was gone just long enough for him to get himself under control, but when she swept back into the living room in that dress, with heels on and a long dark wool duster, and a glittery pin holding the curls up off her right ear, he again wished they could skip the business mixer and just stay here. But one look at her face, the bright anticipatory gleam in her eyes, and the words died on his lips. She was looking forward to this, very much indeed, and he was not going to be the one to take this away from her.

He chose that moment to open the second box he'd placed on the coffee table earlier; the blue roses had been for Taylor and Lia; but these bright red ones were for himself and Joss. One he pinned to his lapel; seized by sudden inspiration, he took the other rose off its elastic wrist strap and tucked it under the pin in her hair. There were no thorns, so it wouldn't stick her, but the bright red looked beautiful nestled among the dark curls.

"Thanks, John," she said as he finished, with a smile that was full of warmth and love.

"Don't thank me until you've opened this," he said, and from the pocket of his jacket he produced a small box.

"John…I didn't get you anything!" She looked distressed even as she reached for it.

"I didn't get this for just you. I got it for both of us. Open it." And she did.

Inside, nestled on a bed of cotton, were two stainless-steel dog-tag style pendants on standard-length bead chains. Each pendant had an engraved, stylized J on the front; one had it in a flowing feminine script, the other was in bold, masculine block letters. And on the back, Army rank markers. Few people outside the military could read military markings, and few people would get close enough to realize that the back of Joss's pendant was engraved with the chevrons of John's rank, Sergeant First Class; and the back of John's pendant was engraved with the stripes of Joss's rank of Warrant Officer.

"John. They're beautiful." She took the one with the feminine J off its bed of cotton and grinned when she saw the Sergeant's chevron on the back. "Subtle. Very subtle. I love it." She reached up to slide the chain over her head, then tucked the pendant down into the front of her dress. "I'm never, ever taking this off."

He settled the other pendant, the one with the first letter of his name and the bars of her rank around his neck, wiggling it under the restrictive bowtie; it settled against his chest, warming slowly from his body heat, and grinned. He'd thought about the usual gifts one bought for a woman on Valentine's Day; chocolates, jewelry—but he didn't see her wear jewelry that often, had no idea what she'd like, and so had chosen these pendants for the two of them. From the look on her face, he'd made the right decision.

"Shall we go?" He held his right elbow out to her.

She linked her left arm with his. "Let's go."


	5. Chapter 5: My Girl

**Chapter 5: My Girl**

_Author's note: Since songfics aren't allowed, I removed the lyrics that had been a part of this chapter. It still reads fine without it. Enjoy_!

"Ready?" Taylor looked at Lia.

She looked toward the lighted gym. "You know, this is the first time I've ever been to a social gathering that didn't involve schoolwork. I'm afraid I'm going to embarrass you or something."

"It's just a silly old school dance," Taylor tried to reassure her. "Just like assemblies in the gym, we just don't have to listen to the principal talking. You don't even have to talk to anyone. Just sit and watch everyone. Oh, and you do have to have at least one dance with me."

"Dance?" her voice squeaked on the last word. "But Kylie said—"

He stopped walking, turned to face her, using his body to block out the sight of the open gym door, making sure she would only see him. "Forget what Kylie said. I don't care about her. She's a user and a bully and she doesn't deserve any of our attention. She gets enough of it from everyone else, she's not going to get ours too. Let's make a promise. It's just you and me tonight. No one else."

She looked up at him, and smiled. He loved her smile. She never smiled widely; hers started with a slight uptwitch at the corners of her mouth, then slowly spread across the rest of her face like a sunrise. Shy, sweet, and so pretty—to him. She didn't have Kylie's conventional beauty, but he'd seen a glimpse of what lay in her heart and mind during their tutoring sessions, as they kept journals and diaries and wrote essays for their teacher, and she had a brilliant mind and a sensitive soul. He found himself attracted to her for reasons that had nothing to do with physical beauty, and so he understood why John Reese would fall in love with his Mom. He really didn't want that mental image of his Mom like that in his head, but she had the same indefinable something that Lia had.

He was tempted to kiss her, but maybe she wasn't ready for that yet. So he linked hands with her, their fingers twined, and then they strolled to the open door of the gym.

They were early enough that the gym wasn't really full—the people who would come later, Kylie and her crowd, were the ones that would make a late entrance just to draw attention to themselves. Right now there were a few of the students that weren't part of the 'in' crowd, people that Taylor recognized and actually wanted to talk to, and he headed across the gym to talk to Manny, a senior but not one of the popular kids.

"Hey, Taylor! Lia, it's great to see you!" There was unfeigned warmth in Manuel Landers's voice as he and his date, Angela Greenwood, turned at the sound of Taylor's voice. Taylor grinned at Angela, then threw his arm around many, thumping him on the back. "Hey. Manny. Good to see you made it, Angela, I didn't know if you'd come to our school's dance."

"Are you kidding? Wouldn't have missed this for the world!" Angela grinned at him. "Since many told me you were bringing Lia, I knew I had to come. My school's Valentine's dance is tonight but I really wanted to meet her." She grabbed Lia's hands. "Oh, wow, that's an absolutely beautiful dress. And I love your shoes! My feet are already killing me in these heels, and I know I'll have blisters later. It's so sensible of you to wear something that's comfortable and won't get in the way of your enjoying the evening!"

Lia smiled shyly. "My Aunt doesn't approve of school dances, so she wouldn't take me shopping, but I ran into Taylor and his Mom at the mall and she helped me pick out this dress. I really do like it." She smoothed down her skirt.

"That's an absolutely gorgeous color on you, it really looks good against your skin. Did Taylor's mom really help? He talks about her, says she's wonderful, but of course, he's a guy, and boys love their moms. Come on, let's go sit over here, my feet are killing me. Manny, can you and Taylor bring us each a cup of punch please?" and she drew Lia over to a couple of tables, still talking, leaving Manny and Taylor staring after the girls in consternation—and amusement.

"How do they do that?" Manny said finally, shaking his head.

"I don't know. I've seen Mom have the same effect on her boyfriend, so it must be a woman thing. Let's go get their punch so they don't get mad at us, or our evening is gonna be spoiled."

As they stood in line at the punch table, Manny leaned in conspiratorily. "I heard a rumor that someone put yours and Lia's names in the ballot box for Valentine Sweethearts. Andy volunteered to help organize the dance and he told me he saw the ballots. You and Lia are definitely on there."

"Seriously?" Taylor blinked.

"Yep. And I heard a rumor that you might be the front runners too. Kylie and Steve are on the ballot, and they may be the front runners, but you and Lia are on there and so are Andy and Trinity and Robby and Michelle. Angela and I both decided we'd vote for you two."

Taylor grinned. "Lia will be so surprised if we end up winning. I mean, I know we won't—most of the kids here will vote for Kylie and Steve, you know that—but it'll still be great seeing our names up there."

"That's what I thought. Manny grinned. "My brother said after we get done here and the dance lets out, we'll stop and grab some shakes and grab a bite before we all go home. When do you and Lia have to be back?"

"I told Grandmom eleven. Mom's…busy…tonight so I have to get dropped off at Grandmom's. And we told Lia's aunt and Uncle eleven so we'd better have her back by then too or she's going to get in real trouble."

"Her Aunt and Uncle are such prudes."

"They come from a country where the customs are different. They can't help the way they think. Although yeah, it's totally not fair that they expect her to conform to their ideas of what to do when she's not a part of their religion or their culture. But they're still her guardians." Taylor was trying to be fair.

"Only for another year. Then she's gonna be an adult and she can do what she wants to do." They reached the front of the line, grabbed for cups. "Here, I'll hold mine and Angela's, you pour, then you can hold yours and Lia's and I'll pour." Manny reached for the dipper in the punch bowl.

As everyone expected, Kylie and Steve and the entire crowd of the popular kids all arrived at the same time, about an hour into the three-hour dance. There was muttering as the kids who were already here had to get off the dance floor to clear the way for the newcomers. Taylor quickly guided Lia to a nearby table, hoping Kylie would miss them in the crowd, but no such luck—the tall blond cheerleader saw them sitting at the far end of the gym and came over. Her smile was bright but there was meanness behind her eyes, and Taylor found himself tensing.

"Hi, Taylor. Hi, Lia. So glad you could make it," and her emphasis on the word 'so' made it clear that no, Kyle was not glad they were there. "Oh, what a nice dress, Lia, did your mother sent that to you? You know the vintage stuff from our parents' teen years are making a comeback and they do look so quaint."

Lia was blushing furiously, and Taylor stepped in. "I like it. I think she looks great. Hey, is that Steve looking for you?" it was a not-so-subtle hint that Kylie should get lost.

Either she missed it or she ignored it. Probably the latter. "Steve will be fine. Okay, you kids have fun now, okay? And don't forget, Lia, you have to be back before the coach turns back into a pumpkin!" A trill of artificial laughter, and she was gone.

"She's so mean. I don't know what I ever saw in her." He shook his head, turned to Lia—and saw the dampness in her eyes. "Oh come on, Lia—ignore her. What she said didn't matter. Don't think about it." He handed her a napkin.

She dabbed at her eyes. "She called my dress quaint."

Taylor snorted derisively. "Yeah, well, compared to what she was wearing, you're wearing a convent nun's habit. She looks like she belongs in an exotic club somewhere, not a high school dance. I love your dress, Lia. Mom did too. Forget Kylie and just have fun."

He scooted his chair slowly backwards over the next ten minutes, forcing her to have to adjust her own chair's position to see him. Finally she had her back to the room and they could talk without her seeing anyone but him, and slowly she relaxed again.

Until the principal came on the stage. "And for the crowning event of the night, boys and girls, we're going to pick the Valentines Dance Sweethearts. Nominations were submitted earlier this week, and our Dance Committee had a chance to look them over and count them. The candidates with the most number of nominations were placed on the ballot, so this Valentine's Day, there are four couples. Only one will be crowned Valentine's Sweethearts, so everybody take a look at the ballots being handed out now, and make your choices. We'll announce the results in ten minutes."

Lia stared in consternation at her ballot as it was handed to her. "You and me? Taylor!"

"I didn't nominate us, Lia, honestly I didn't. I swear."

She read the truth in his eyes, and stared down at the slip of paper. "So who did?"

"A lot of people did," came a voice from behind them. They turned to see Andy Stewart and Trinity Cross, two of the other nominees. Andy was on the organization team, Taylor remembered Manny saying. "You had to have more than twenty nominations to make it onto the ballot, and while I didn't count the exact number, you both made it in easily. I wouldn't be surprised if the final vote was pretty close between you two and Kylie and Steve."

"Andy come on," Trinity stamped her foot, and Andy allowed himself to be drawn away, back into the crowd. Taylor looked around—just in time to see Kylie lean in to a couple sitting at a table, point to their ballot, say something. The couple's eyes flicked to Taylor and Lia, then hurriedly back down to the ballot—and Lia flushed red as she turned her attention back to her ballot. "She's telling people not to vote for us."

"Who cares?" Taylor shrugged as he checked off his and Lia's names on his card and dropped it into a passing ballot box being held by a dance organizer. "You're my sweetheart for the dance, so who cares what anyone else thinks?"

"You're so sweet, Taylor. Thank you," Lia said.

Manny came by their table with Angela. "You know Kylie and Steve are going around telling everyone to vote for them."

"I know. They're rigging the vote. It's okay, Manny, it's not like Lia and I really need that kind of attention anyway."

"Yeah, but it's still not fair." Manny frowned mutinously. "Angela, let's go around and tell people to vote for Taylor and Lia."

"No! No, dude, seriously, it's not that big a deal!" Taylor was half laughing at his friend's stubbornness. "Really, Manny. Just leave it alone. I don't need a dance ballot or a vote to tell me Lia's a sweetheart."

"Taylor. Man, you are so stubborn." Manny rolled his eyes, but Taylor refused to stop glaring until he finally sighed. "Okay. Fine. Not a word."

And that was that. Taylor and Lia returned to their conversation—the latest chapter in the book they were reading for English Lit—when someone suddenly gave Taylor a shove. "Well, go up there, they're calling for both of you!"

"What?" Lia looked confused, but many and Angela were pushing their way through the crowd toward them.

"Haven't you been paying attention? It was a tie! The votes were a tie! Kylie and Steve and you and Taylor were all voted as Valentine's Sweethearts!" Angela tugged a stunned, frozen Lia out of her chair. "Come on, go up there, the Sweethearts Dance is about to begin!"

It was tradition that the couple who was voted Valentine's Sweethearts for that year led the last dance. Taylor shot a grin at a dazed-looking Lia as they joined Kylie Whistler and Steve Wood at the podium at the front of the gym, and at their appearance there was a wave of applause at least as loud as the applause Kylie and Steve had gotten…maybe a little more so. "I voted for you!" came a hissed whisper from someone at the front of the room, and Taylor felt a moment of surprise as he realized the whisper came from Trinity herself—one of Kylie's best friends. Then they were in front of the podium, and the music was playing the intro to the song that always concluded the school's Valentine dance.

He felt a moment of panic as he put his arms around her and took her hand, like John had showed him the previous night—but when he looked into Lia's eyes and saw her nervousness there, he forgot about his own. And then, the next moment when Kylie leaned in and whispered nastily, "Just sway back and forth. You can't dance, anyway," he forgot about his nervousness seeing the fear in Lia's eyes. He ran through John's instructions in his head, thinking about John maybe dancing with his Mom at this very moment, and it helped calm his nerves.

And then he looked at Lia, and he forgot to be nervous. She was tense, but Kylie's hissed nastiness had riled her temper up, and he felt her take the lead. And suddenly it felt like they both were floating.

It felt so good to be dancing with Emilia Riante. Kylie had made her mad; there were two bright spots of color high on her cheeks, her eyes were fairly snapping sparks, and he suddenly saw an Italian temper under her quiet façade. "You look magnificent," he whispered under the cover of the music. "Look at Kylie, she looks mad!"

Kylie was furious. Used to being the center of attention wherever she went, used to being petted and praised and being told she was the best at everything no matter where she was or who she was with, to be upstaged by a small, dark Italian-Indian girl with a quiet, hot temper of her own was an entirely new experience for the blond cheerleader. People were moving back to give Taylor and Lia more space, not even caring if they bumped into Kylie and Steve—they were altogether forgotten as people cheered for Lia and Taylor. And for that moment, as they whirled on the dance floor, Taylor truly felt like he was walking on sunshine.

The song ended, and he felt euphoric as the principal said, 'Let's hear it for this year's Valentines Sweethearts! Now, that concludes the dance, everyone shake hands, and we'll all go home happy!" Taylor turned to Kylie and Steve, hand extended.

But Kylie didn't shake hands. She gave him and Lia both a hard, baleful, anger-filled glare, turned, and stomped off. Steve gave Taylor a long, hard look that felt threatening; Taylor returned the look with one that said 'I'm not afraid of you' and continued to hold out his hand. Then Steve looked at Lia, and there was, for just a moment, something hard and nasty looking out of his eyes…and then he too was gone, following Kylie out of the gym.

Taylor would never remember what stammered apologies the principal made for Kylie and Steve's rude behavior; he knew that for the last few months of school he was going to have to look out for Lia. Steve wasn't going to make either of their lives easy; well, Taylor was going to do what he could to protect Lia from the other boy's nastiness. He wasn't afraid of Steve Wood—no way in hell.

"Come on. Let's go find Manny and Angela and blow this place. It's almost ten thirty and we have to get you back by eleven." Lia allowed herself to be led away, still pink-cheeked and angry.

But her anger had cooled by the time they were sitting in the parking lot of the local fast-food joint, sipping strawberry, vanilla and chocolate milkshakes. The events of the evening were a bit more distant, now, and Taylor could laugh about it now with a light heart; but as they said goodbye to Lia at the front doorstep of her Aunt and Uncle's house at exactly eleven o'clock (thanks to Manny's older brother's military-instilled sense of timeliness) he resolved to keep an eye out for whatever the last few months of school might bring.


	6. Chapter 6: Fall

**Chapter 6: Fall**

Heads turned as they walked in. A subtle murmur passed through the crowd.

John pretended he didn't notice, but there was no way he could have not noticed the glances he and Joss were getting from all over the room. He scanned the room carefully for threats—no, they weren't here for a number, but that didn't mean that something couldn't rear its ugly head, so it never hurt to be cautious. You just never knew…

But in the meantime, Joss had approached the maitre'd and handed him the sheet of expensive linen-cotton blend paper that had been their invitation—and ticket—into the rarified atmosphere of high society's brokers of money and power. "Harold Burdett? Yes, his name's on the list here, he emailed to say he wouldn't be able to make it, but that two of his business partners would attend in his stead. Mr. John Riley and Ms. Jocelyn Carter."

"That's us. Thank you," and Joss smiled sweetly as she closed her purse and turned to look around the room. So many people. So many faces. But she noticed many of those heads were turned hers and John's way.

"Oh my God, what an absolutely delicious hunk!" she and John heard someone whisper to someone else as they passed. John's face stayed somber—the man had a hell of a poker face when he really set his mind to it—but she could tell from the slight vibration of his arm linked with hers that he was laughing internally.

"That is an absolutely gorgeous dress!" someone else whispered to her as she passed, and she smiled and thanked them, then she and John moved on.

And then, quite close—and in an insultingly loud stage whisper, a male voice at her elbow. "She'd look so much better on my arm than his."

Oh _really_. This she wasn't going to ignore, especially as that stage whisper had been specifically aimed at her. "No thanks. _You_ wouldn't look half as good next to this dress," she said archly, then turned and swept away with John, leaving a dumbfounded loser staring at her back.

John snagged two glasses of sparkling champagne off a server's tray and handed one to her. "Joss Carter; one, loser; zero," he chuckled. "You've got a temper on you, Ms. Carter."

"And don't you forget it," she grinned as she sipped from her glass. "Look at loser back there. I think his girl just deserted him for someone else." Sure enough, the loser was now standing all by his lonesome self in the middle of the room.

John chuckled and let his eyes travel around the room. "Look over there," he said, nudging Joss's arm with one finger. "See that guy over there with that young woman on his arm he's introducing as his secretary? They're having an affair."

"Really? How can you tell?" Joss turned to look—and as she did, she saw the woman reach out with one hand and squeeze the guy's rear. "Oh my." Then she considered. "Well, I can see how she'd find him attractive. He does have some nice tight buns." A quick smile at him full of merry wickedness. "Not nearly as nice and tight as yours, however."

John nearly choked on his sip of champagne.

"Now look over there." She pointed behind him, and he leaned in toward her, turning for a quick look around as he did so. "See that girl with the tight red minidress on? I've seen her before—in the booking room at the precinct. She's an escort."

John casually reached out and appropriated a cracker with a slice of cheese on it from a passing server, in the process having to move to Joss's other side. Now he was looking the same direction she was facing. "You see that handkerchief tucked into the top of the guy's breast pocket? The logo's all scrunched up but that's the logo of one of Manhattan's high-priced escort and call girl services. He's here showing off the merchandise, hoping to attract clients." Sure enough, one of the men standing over in the corner watching the pimp and the call girl stepped forward and discreetly handed the girl a small white rectangle—a business card—but his hand lingered a little too long touching hers.

"She's not pretty enough to be a call girl. I'd certainly never take her out anywhere with me." John sipped his champagne, studying the call girl. "She's really not my type."

"Not your type? So what does the great John Riley call 'his type'?" She faced him squarely, smiling but with a hint of challenge in her eyes.

"Feisty. Independent. Fiercely self-dependent. Persistent and stubborn." He met her eyes with wry humor of his own. "Has to have a sense of humor. Thinks of everyone first before she thinks of herself. Self-sacrificing." He looked at her, and his eyes took a meditative gleam. "Sometimes too much."

"You give a lot of yourself too, John. Sometimes too much, too." The room faded into the background—in this moment, there was just the two of them. "You have a temper too, but you only lose it when you have to—or when someone does something stupid and deserves to get yelled at." They both grinned.

"Well, when we get back, there's a little something I'd like to give you…" And the look he gave her had enough heat in it to send hot desire sizzling down her nerves.

"I know…" she felt breathless, had to gulp a quick breath. "Taylor's going over to my mother's after the dance tonight, I told her I was working."

"You lied to your mother…" John grinned a darkly predatory, sensual male smile that did absolutely nothing good to her libido. If anything, he was even more intensely sexy in that moment.

"Well, I am working, sort of. Harold did say we had a number…I'm just not supposed to know it was a ruse."

"We should have known we couldn't get anything past you. Harold said he briefly considered taking Sam, but Sam's already planning on spending Valentine's Day with her current flame." A smile curved his lips. "Finch said Bear would benefit more from her heavy petting than he would."

Joss almost choked on her champagne. Her face turned red as she struggled to catch her breath. "Harold actually said that?" she finally gasped out through tearing eyes. "Oh my gosh."

Movement in John' peripheral vision caught his attention, and he turned—just as the person he'd seen in his peripheral vision moved into Joss's field of vision. "Joss?" came a male voice.

She turned to see who was talking to her, and the color drained from her face so suddenly John reached out a hand to her, wondering if she was going to faint. But she shook off his hand, took a step past him, facing the newcomer, and as he turned and saw who it was, he tensed.

Paul Carter.

"I didn't know you'd be here tonight," Joss said softly.

"My new girlfriend's boss was invited to this party, but he couldn't attend, so he asked her to come. I came with her to keep her company." Then, with a sidelong glance at John, "I didn't know you were into stockbrokers"

Joss flushed at the scornful look Paul gave John. "This is John Rooney. His boss, Harold Burdett, was unable to make the mixer so he asked John to come. I came along just to keep him company."

"Some company." Carter looked at John in what John assumed was supposed to be a challenging manner, but Paul Carter was not—and never would be—a match for John himself. There was no challenge necessary. John was clearly the superior male here, and he let his features and body relax in a subtle insult that said 'I'm not wasting time on you, you're not worth it'. No words were spoken between the two men, but none needed to be.

Paul Carter shrugged and turned away, dismissing John and Joss as unimportant. Joss took a step forward, caught his sleeve as he started to walk away. He spun quickly, yanking his arm out of her hand. She drew back, looking slightly hurt, and John gritted his teeth to keep from saying anything.

"Are you…doing okay?"

He gave her a cold, slashing look. "Apparently not as good as you're doing with White Boy here," he said almost sneeringly.

"Paul, that's not fair. We both have moved on." She nodded a head in the direction of Paul's girlfriend, who had drifted off to give Paul time to talk to Joss.

"Yeah. But I guess now I know why Taylor hasn't really warmed up to me. You've been telling him all sorts of things and White Boy over there probably been buying him off with expensive toys. Is this why he didn't want me taking him out to pick pout a suit for his school dance tonight? White Boy can afford to buy him something expensive—or have a suit tailored for him?"

"Stop calling him that, Paul. John hasn't bought Taylor anything. And I haven't told him anything. I want him to have a good relationship with you—he's your son." She sounded hurt. "And leave John out of it. He has nothing to do with this."

Carter shrugged. "I'll call him whatever I please. It's nothing to me if you want a little milk in your coffee." He looked Joss up and down, appraisingly. "Though I guess I can see what he sees in you. Is he seeing anything else of you?"

That was enough. John faced Carter. "I see a beautiful woman, inside and out, who loved you. You didn't care enough about her to love her the way she deserves to be loved. You don't deserve to even know her. Taylor's seventeen, he can make up his own mind about what and who he sees around him, and if you think I'm the reason he doesn't like you, then you're obviously not paying attention to your own son. He loves his mother. He's very protective of her. And what you say and do about and to Joss only makes him want to distance himself even further from you. You're the only one driving him away from you, and you don't even realize it. I'm sorry for you." He took Joss's arm. "Come on. Let's go dance."

"Dancing? You never wanted to dance with me," Carter snapped, no longer even bothering to be polite. "Guess you're the lucky one."

"Yes." John didn't bother to hide his dislike of Paul Carter anymore. What the hell had Joss seen in him, that she would fall in love with him and want to marry him? At this moment, the only thing John could see good about Paul Carter was the fact that he'd given Taylor to Joss, and that he'd managed to not pass on any of his more charming personality traits to the boy. Joss was flushed red with embarrassment, and she looked so hurt. "Yes, I'm the lucky one. I'm lucky Joss puts up with me. I'm lucky she tolerates me. I'm lucky she cares about me. I'm lucky she loves me.

"You were lucky that she loved you. Loved you enough to marry you, have your son. Still cares about you. You have no idea how lucky you were. And you threw that all away. Taylor sees that every day, every time he tries to talk about Joss in front of you and you dismiss it, dismiss him, and dismiss the mother he loves. That's why he doesn't like you." It was on the tip of John's tongue to say that Taylor's dislike probably also stemmed from the fact that he remembered his father's uncontrollable temper hurting his mother, but it wasn't something that had to be brought up in public. Joss was red-faced with embarrassment and he wanted to get her away from the whole disagreeable situation. "Come on, Joss." He took her arm and led her away from Paul Carter, and this time the man didn't try to stop them as they headed for the dance floor.

He didn't speak to her until they were on the dance floor and he had one hand around her waist, the other in hers. Her hand was cold and sweaty, and he could feel the tension in her body. They went through a few measures of the dance in silence, and it wasn't until he felt her body relax under his hand that he spoke. "Why did you do that, Joss?" he said. "Why did you ask him if he was okay?"

"He's been picking Taylor up from school on Friday afternoons for their weekend visits. I haven't seen him in months. Is it really so hard to imagine I would want to know how a man I was married to is doing when I haven't seen him in awhile?" she sounded bitter.

He hadn't known it had been that long since she'd seen Paul, and his anger at the other man only increased. "He's practically going out of his way to avoid seeing you. Like Taylor said, he obviously doesn't care about you or how you're doing. You don't owe him any concern either."

"But I'm not like that. I'm not like him. I can't just stop caring about him, stop thinking about whether he's doing okay, how he's doing in his therapy." She looked up at him. "I can't just turn it off, John. I thought I could. When I left Paul, I told myself never again. I told myself for a while that it was just Taylor and me, and that was all we needed and that was all we were ever going to need. But somehow, somewhere along the way, after I met you...things changed. Even that night at the station." A wry smile, a ghost of his Joss coming out after the storm.

"I had no idea who was hiding under those dirty clothes and wild hair. I had no idea how much my life was going to change after that one chance meeting. If someone had told me this was going to be the start of a wonderful friendship, I wouldn't have believed them. But then you started popping up at my crime scenes—and places where I knew I'd have had a crime scene if you hadn't been there. Mrs. Kovacs was only the first of many incidents."

"I heard your conversation with Eddie in the diner. You had sass and spunk. I liked that. I could respect that and admire that in you, about you. I told Finch that day—you weren't just another number. And you weren't. You never have been."

"Even when I was hunting you down?" Storm over. There was a mischievous sparkle in her eye, and she was suddenly floating in his arms.

"Even when you were hunting me down. Even then. I couldn't help but admire your tenacity, your adherence to your own moral code. And...that night on the roof...Finch told me you'd called the FBI on me."

"I knew as soon as I put that phone down it was a mistake. I knew I was going to feel horrible about it. And then, when Snow shot you on the roof..." she shuddered, closed her eyes. "John...I don't think I ever said I'm sorry for all that. It should never have happened. I should never have done that."

"You made a mistake. And Joss Carter fixes her mistakes. Like when you found Finch getting me into the car downstairs—you helped me the rest of the way into the car. Told Finch to get me out of there." He smiled at her. "I don't remember a lot from that night, but that I do remember. Your voice. You didn't have to say you were sorry, Joss, I could hear it. Feel it. See it. And then, later...the night at the hospital I was sitting alone on a bench with a paramedic's shirt draped over me, but somehow you knew it was me. You came up and offered me help." A smile. "You're always offering me help, Joss. And yet, whenever I offer to help you—with HR, for instance—you turn me down." Another smile. "Or you say I don't have to. You always take the higher ground, Joss, you give me an out even when I don't want an out."

The music ended, but Joss didn't step away; she lingered a moment in his arms, wondered for a brief moment if Paul was watching, and then suddenly decided she didn't care. She stepped in close, felt his arms close around her, felt the smooth fabric of his tuxedo jacket against her cheek. "So...I guess I'll break with tradition this time and not give you an out. Did Taylor tell you about my arrangements for him for the evening? That he's going to my mother's after his friends drop him off from the dance?"

Her voice dropped to a soft husky purr and his blood was suddenly racing, heart slamming around in his chest so hard he wondered if it would burst. "He did," he said quietly. "If you're having second thoughts..."

For answer, she kissed him.

Long, deep. Her lips didn't part, it was a touch of their lips together only, but there was enough thinly-disguised passion in the connection to heat the air around them, heat their bodies, heat their blood. And when he finally broke off the kiss, pausing long enough to look into her eyes, the question he'd been about to ask died unsaid on his lips.

He didn't have to ask. Not when she looked like that.


	7. Chapter 7: Chemicals React

**Chapter 7: Chemicals React**

_Author's Note—Can't put lyrics into the story, but the inspiration for this chapter is Aly & AJ's 'Chemicals React'._

The bowtie she'd tied for him never made it all the way back to her apartment. His jacket didn't make it past the front door. Neither did her shoes.

By the time they'd gotten into her bedroom his shoes had been left somewhere in the hall; his shirt had lost a few buttons on the stairs. Joss's dress was too beautiful to pull off, but he pressed her back to the wall at the top of her stairs and slid one hand up her pantyhose-clad leg, found the top of the pantyhose and started trying to pull it down—and cursed when the rough edge of a nail snagged the delicate nylon. It was Joss herself who reached down, almost casually, and yanked the waistband of the pantyhose down, ignoring the run that ran all the way down to her knees. Moments later that annoying, tantalizingly thin barrier between his hands and her silky smooth skin was gone, and he could finally satisfy all of his long-held, deeply-buried dreams of feeling what her hot smooth skin felt like under his hands.

She was exquisite; so different from Jessica's tentative tenderness, different from Zoe's bold demand for attention. She held him as if she wanted him, and yet her hold was so light that he could have pulled away anytime, could have left, walked out on his own. And he felt instinctively that as much as her body was, right now, saying she wanted this, if he decided he didn't, she would never try to hold him against his will. She respected him enough to give him his space, to let him make his own choices and she would live with the results of those choices.

And strangely, that just made him want her all the more. It was a strange leash she was holding, a bond of—yes, love—that freed him and yet held him tighter than he'd ever felt himself held before; held him tightly—and he didn't mind. Didn't mind at all.

As her body came out of the black dress—she almost literally peeled it off her body—he stifled a groan as his pants became suddenly several sizes too tight. Too restrictive. He couldn't move in them. Couldn't—he barely noticed when the button went flying off to the right somewhere, toward Joss's closet; his attention was focused on taking her almost nude body in his arms. Pantyhose gone, the only clothing left to her was a pair of black lace panties clinging to her hips, and a matching strapless black lace bra cupping her breasts.

The panties were easily disposed of. The bra...well, damn, the thing was strapless—how the hell was he supposed to get the thing off?

Joss started giggling hysterically as she reached behind her with one hand. "It's not rocket science, John," she teased, and suddenly the bra was a strip of lace dangling from her hand and her breasts were bared to his hungry gaze, framing the dog tag pendant he'd just bought her."Hmm. See something you like?"

"Mmm," he murmured as he stepped close to her, pulled her close as he toed off his socks and stood in front of her dressed in nothing but boxers that strained against his insistent desire. She grinned then, stepped close, and kissed him again.

In comparison with the lips-closed, almost chaste kiss from the business mixer, this one had heat, hunger, lust in it. Mouths opened, lips parted, tongues twined in hot, hungry demand; John was barely aware of her hands sliding down his chest, flicking his pendant before continuing down to his waist, where she took hold of the waistband of his boxers and started sliding them down.

He was aware, however, when her mouth left his and found a different part of him. He bit his lip to keep from groaning aloud—Jesus, but he'd dreamed about this, for so long, wondered what it would be like, what it would feel like to have her there, wrapped around him, sweet heat and erotic wetness driving him crazy, and now she was here, and damn it, if she didn't stop doing...that...with her tongue and lips he was going to come too soon for them to have any real fun.

He forced himself to take a step back, removing himself from that deliciously-talented mouth and the sensations that mouth was causing, and pulled her up to face him; then he kissed her again even as his hands roved over her skin, down her back, her shoulders, around her waist to her front—and then up her front, reaching up to cup her breasts. Their bit of height difference made it difficult for him to take her breasts in his mouth, torment her breasts with the same skill she'd just tormented him—so he applied pressure to her gently, as he'd done when they were in the dance, to let her know to step back.

She did, stepping back until the back of her knees hit the bed, then she sat down. He sat next to her, kissing her once more, then gently pressed back on her shoulder until she lay flat across her bed. Thank goodness she had a Queen, and not a full, or they'd both have trouble fitting on it; but as it was, there was more than enough comfortable surface there for John to do what he'd dreamed of for so long...

"Lie down comfortably. On your back. And relax." She complied, looking for a moment rather like Sleeping Beauty must have. And John was her prince, and she had a feeling that he was going to wake her up rather thoroughly.

He started by dropping a kiss on her forehead, running fingers through her hair. A soft, gentle kiss on her temple, a deeply intimate gesture, and then that gentle kiss turned into a line of hot, hungry kisses from just under her ear, down the curve of her neck and shoulder. Her hands came up involuntarily to run through his hair, a gentle caress; she felt him moan under her hand even as he took his mouth further down to her chest. She opened her legs, then; propped up her knees and opened her thighs so he could settle between them and give her breasts the attention she sensed he wanted to give her—and that she wanted from him.

She had rather full, thick, dark nipples. Great for breastfeeding Taylor—he'd had no trouble latching on, first; then there wasn't much of a transition later when his appetite outgrew her body's production rate and she had to change him over to a bottle—but Paul had always teased her about them, saying they made her look like a cow. She'd laughed along with him the first time he'd said that after she'd stopped lactating, but later on, when their relationship turned bitter and his anger became a tangible, living being in the same room with them, he'd repeat it when they were in the middle of their arguments, and what might have started as a harmless joke soon turned into another in a long line of hurtful words Paul had said to her that had hurt her feelings, her self-esteem, and ultimately had led to leaving him.

She shouldn't be thinking about this while in bed with John. She shouldn't. He was so different from Paul, and it wasn't just the skin color—she didn't even notice the skin color. When he was angry, he didn't lash out, take it out on anyone and everyone around him; he channeled it into a direction it would do the most good. He talked to her, respected her, cared about her and protected her even as he gave her the independence and freedom to do what she felt she needed to do, in her life and in her work. He had the ability to have Harold track her every move, every word of every conversation—if Paul had had that kind of power he'd have done so unashamedly, watching every minute of her life, waking and sleeping. And although she knew the cellphone she carried was Finch's—and John's—conduit into her life, she never felt like they were intruding, or spying. She might joke about it, but it was clear it was a joke; they interfered when her life was in danger, or when she asked them.

* * *

"Joss..." John sensed that she'd drifted away there for a moment, she wasn't responding to what he was doing to her. It wasn't an annoyance; he wanted to know what it was she was thinking about.

"I'm sorry," she said, but there was something different in her voice. Hurt. Pain.

He took his mouth and hands off her and settled beside her, one arm lying warm across her stomach. . "Tell me."

"It's silly," she said, taking a quick swipe at her eyes, and he decided that he wasn't going to let this go. Whatever it was, it was something that affected her enough to forget her own desire, and he wanted to figure out whatever it was...and get rid of it.

"It's not silly if it affects you like this."

She sniffled. "Paul...used to say my...my breasts...looked like a cow's."

John fought a rush of anger. How the hell could anyone say that to a woman he was in bed with? A woman he loved? The same woman who had borne his child?

As if sensing his anger, Joss tried to defuse it. "It was a joke. Or it started out as one. Right after I transitioned Taylor over onto a bottle—I breastfed him for a while. And Paul would joke about my... nipples...after he was done. That I looked like a cow."

"It's not a joke, Joss. It's never a joke when it hurts your feelings." John was trying not to be jealous of Paul Carter when they'd had their run-in at the mixer; now he felt no jealousy. Just pity, anger and contempt. "Having a child changes everything. I used to wonder how you women do it, make that choice to let your bodies change like that, a choice to g through all the misery of carrying an expanding watermelon in your stomach for nine months, then go through all that pain again just to get that watermelon out." His hand came up to her lower belly, traced the wide, pale scar across her lower abdomen where she'd had her c-section. "I can't imagine what this must be like for you, for women. I certainly wouldn't do it. Your bodies are never the same again."

"But it's all worth it. Taylor's worth it." A fond smile. She wasn't thinking about Paul anymore.

"If I were you I'd say it's easy to say from this end of time. I don't know if I could have said that when diapers needed changing."

Joss laughed—and he felt her attention shift, focus back on him. "The great John Reese, afraid of a baby diaper?"

He nodded. "Absolutely. Terrified."

She grinned as she sat up, then straddled him as he rolled over onto his back. Now he was the one on the bottom, and she was on top, and the sight of the underside of her breasts bouncing as she giggled was erotic. And she knew it, too; he could see the light in her eyes, feel the hunger in her as she took his erection in her hands.

By the time she dipped her head, took just the tip of him in her mouth and started working her magic on him again, he knew she wasn't thinking about her ex-husband anymore.

And when he finally slipped inside her, he wasn't thinking about Paul Carter either.

* * *

Silly. So silly.

Paul had no place in her mind, in the same bedroom, as John. No comparison. Yes, both men had flaws. But John's flaws she could live with. Paul's...well, she could have lived with his character flaws if they hadn't hurt her son. But it was done, long over, and she was here, with John. And her own body wanted this...

She hadn't had anyone in the years between them. Too busy with work, life, with Taylor; no desire to; and more importantly, no one she really wanted. Every man she'd been attracted to reminded her of Paul and she'd run the other way. As fast as she could. She hadn't realized, until John came into her life, how much she'd missed.

But John was so different from Paul. Face, form, character, manner. Everything. Paul had been gorgeous when she'd first met him; lean, muscled, authoritative—she'd found that sexy. John, too, was lean, muscled—hell, yeah, she was looking at them now—but while he could be authoritative, he also respected her enough to step back and let her make her own decisions, her own mistakes—and he knew when she needed help and would step in even if she didn't think she needed him. Such a fine, delicate line.

And John was gorgeous. Sexy. She hadn't known this was what was hiding under the dirty clothes and wild hair and beard back at the precinct the night of John's subway fight with Anton, but when she'd first seen him after Finch had gotten hold of him, she'd been delighted—and amazed. He sure cleaned up pretty...and in the years since their first meeting, she'd leaned that he really was as beautiful under the skin as he was on top of it. And she'd never had the courage to make a move on him. Their jobs decreed they came from two different words, and besides, there was Zoe. And for her, there'd been Cal. She'd liked Cal, but she understood now that he'd been more of a distraction for her, a way for her to avoid facing her feelings—and her undeniable attraction—for a man she'd felt she had no right to, a man she'd thought would never feel the same.

And then last night, he'd completely blown that out of the water with his hurried words 'I love you' and his kiss.

She'd been stunned as she closed the door. She'd been feeling, for some time that what they had between them was deeper than friendship; but, unsure of how he really felt, she'd hesitated. Last night had been an eye-opener—and waking up in the middle of the night with her sheets soaked with sweat and hot desire raging through her because she'd just woken up from a dream of him, in this bed, with her, had clarified to her what she really wanted. And when she'd woken up she'd called her mother and arranged for Taylor to stay at her place that night.

Now she had him right where she wanted him...and she could make that dream, the one she'd had last night, come true.

She slid herself onto him, sheathed him inside her. Jesus, but it had been so damn long since she'd had anyone in her... John was proportionate for his height, and she groaned as she settled herself on top of him, feeling her deep inside her body.

"Take it...easy.." john managed through gritted teeth. "Don't...hurt yourself..."

"I can handle you, Mister Reese," she growled at him, and he looked at her, his blue eyes darkening to sapphire with lust and desire. "I've handled you just fine the last few years—don't think I can't do it in bed, too."

His hands came up and brushed a strand of her hair off her forehead. "I would never insinuate that you couldn't handle yourself. Or me." His lips didn't say it, but his eyes did; _I belong to you. Do what you want with me._

And she had every intention of doing so.

His hands cupped her breasts as she started to ride him, rising slowly, almost completely, then settling herself back down, each time going deeper and deeper until the dark curls at his groin touched the smooth skin of her own loins. Back in the Army, she'd quickly learned a tip from senior female officers; if you shave there, hygiene will be easier. So she'd started shaving—and even after she left the army, she'd continued—partly out of habit, and partly because she really didn't have much time in her busy life to worry about herself. This morning after she'd made the arrangements with her mother for Taylor, she'd taken a thorough shower with some expensive scented soaps and then shaved everything below her waist thoroughly. No roughness of stubble on her legs or between them, which was where it most counted—and now, the coarseness of John's hair tickled and teased the core of her body, providing a tiny amount of sensation that nevertheless had a huge impact on her growing desire.

* * *

John was in heaven. All his dreams, heated fantasies, imaginings, came down to this.

He'd dreamed of what being inside Joss would feel like. Too many nights had seen him waking up with a hard-on because he'd dreamed of her. And in the beginning, he hadn't understood. Yes, he liked her. Yes, she was a good friend and a good woman. But he'd always believed himself partial to blonds, had never been attracted to a black woman.

But Joss was different, and he'd gradually understood that it had less to do with her color, her race, or his previous preferences, and more to do with simply who she was as a person. She didn't have as perfect a body as Jessica- not that there was any comparison, she'd had a child by c-section, after all, and her career in the Amy had left its own scars on her skin. And she didn't have Zoe Morgan's endless legs and perfect composure. But her body, her figure, her mind and soul and everything that made her who she was today, had been shaped by her selflessness, her giving nature-even to carrying a child for nine months and then nearly losing her life giving birth to that child. And he found that incomparably sexy—more attractive to him, now, that mere physical beauty.

And then she started moving on top of him, and he forgot everything except the incredible sensation of her riding him. She raised herself up off him, slowly, then sank back onto him; each time she did, he could feel himself delving deeper and deeper until she had all of him sheathed inside her.

And then she leaned forward, braced herself on her elbows, and captured his mouth in hers in a kiss as she started really riding him. Hard and fast, and there was no distraction now, no other thoughts for either of them except taking pleasure in what their bodies were doing. He had to exert every ounce of his self-control, forcing himself not to come until he felt the contractions of her own pelvic floor become stronger, more intense; until she whimpered his name in tones of lust and need, and then he exploded at the sound of her voice, taking her over that inexpressible peak with him.


End file.
